160 


BANCROFT    LIBRARY 


©ut  of  a  Silver  flute* 


Tt\e  Flcur  de  Lb  Poet^. 


o 


OVT  OrA  i   -   *    • 
•  i  SILVER  FtVTE 

PHILIP  VERR1LL  MIGHEL5- 


NEW  YORK.  J.  SELWIN  TAIT 
ANP  5 ON 5,  NVMPDR  5IXTY- 
PFVD  FIFTH  AVDNVD.  •  i  •  i 


M31 


COPYRIGHT,   1896 

J.  SELWIN  TAIT  &  SONS 

NEW  YORK 

All  Rights  Reserved 


roft  Library 


Dedication. 

re  Ella. 

My  soul  through  births  and  deaths  pro- 
cessioned on 
The  progress  way,  ambition  -  spurred ; 

but,  oh, 
It  glides  so  swiftly  since  you  brought  the 

dawn 

And   made    white -lilted   aspirations 
grow  ! 


Contents, 


Quatrains.  PAGE. 

THE  SUNSET,     .           .           .           .  .8 

IN  CALIFOENIA,        ....  8 
GOD'S  MAKING. 

The  Mountains,           .           .  .9 

The  Prairie,           ...  9 

The  Sea,          .           .           .  .10 

The  Sky,    ....  10 

THE  INDIAN  SUMMER,   .           .           .  .11 

THE  JELLY-FISH,      .  .  .  .11 

LIFE'S  ATTRIBUTES. 

The  Mind,       .            .            .  .12 

The  Heart,             ...  12 

The  Soul,         .           .           .  .13 
Love,          .           .           .           .13 

THE  FLOOD,       .           .           .           .  .14 

TO-DAY, 14 

Two  GODDESSES  WE  MAKE. 

Satiety,             .            .            .  .15 

Moderation,  .  .  .15 

EFFORT,              .           .           .           .  .16 

POETRY,         ....  16 


CONTENTS. 

Sonnets*  PAGE. 

ETEENITT. 

The  Heart,  .  .  .        18 

The  Mind,        .  .  .  .19 

The  Soul,    .  .  .  .20 

A  WOMAN,        .  .  •  .  .21 

WHY? 22 

*THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHEISTMAS,    .  .  .23 

'TWAS  KADIGA  WAS  GKEAT,     .  .  .24 

SYMPATHY,    .  .  .  .  .25 

THE  OBELISK  IN  CENTRAL  PARK,       .  .  26 

STONE  AND  SOUL,     .  .  .  .27 

THE  SACRIFICE,  .  .  .  .28 

LET  THERE  BE  LIGHT,        .  .  .29 

THE  SUN, 30 

GOD'S  VOICE,  ....       81 


A  THOUSAND  YEARS  AGO,       .           .  .83 

I  WOULD  NOT  HAVE  THEE  CHANGE,  .        34 

THE  VELVET  OF  THY  HANDS,        .  .  35 

THE  DAWN  THAT'S  IN  THINE  EYES,  .        37 

fTHY  REGAL  HEART,  .            .            .  .39 

ft  THERE'S  No  ESCAPE,      .  .40 

*THE  NIGHT  WE  TRADED  RINGS,       .  .  41 

SHE  SINGS  OF  LOVE,           .  .43 

READS  His  NOTE,        .            .  .45 

ANSWERED  YES,      .           .  .47 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

ttWHEN  BABY  SMILES,  .  .  .49 

WHEN  BABY  LEARNS  TO  Kiss,      .  .        61 


/lMscellaneou0. 

I  DREAMED  OF  LOYE,              .  .           .63 

THE  ORGAN'S  LOVE,          v  .           •        67 

THE  NIGHT-SKATER,              .  .           .60 
GOD'S  SUN,   .....        61 

PRE-EMPTION,     .           .            .  .           .62 

ALL  ABOUT  IT,                    .  .           .63 

THE  WEDDING-RING,    .           .  .           .65 

AN  OLDEN  MEMORY  CAME,  .           .        67 

+fTHE  BACHELOR  SONG,           .  .           .70 

ttTrm  MEN  WHO  LIVE  ALONE,  .           .  71 

tfA  BACHELOR  TOAST,       .  72 

ft  TEN  FINGERS,           .           .  .           .74 

THE  GLOW  IN  THE  GRATE,  .           .        75 

IT  SHALL  NOT  PASS,    .           .  .           .77 
WHY  SHOULD  I  LIVE?        ...       78 

*Au  REVOIR,    .           .           .  .           .80 

"Published  in  Chips. 
t  Published  in  Judge. 
tt  Published  in  Vanity. 


Quatrains, 


Gbe  Sunset, 

Old  Sol  dipped  low,  and  red  through 

clouds  he  burst, 

And  all  adown  a  ripple  path  he  trod 
'Till  lo !  'gainst  purple  lights  appeared — 

reversed — 
The  golden  exclamation  point  of  God ! 


f  n  California* 

Great  lines  of  mountain  peaks  against 

the  sky 

Like  God's  eternal,  vast  chirography 
Appear ;  but  raised  in  huge  solemnity 

Great  Shasta  stands  an  awe-inspiring  I. 


THE  MOUNTAINS. 

The  huge-wrought,  sinew-guarded  veins 
And  arteries  that  gird  the  world  and 

spread 
The  blood  of  melting  snows  and  myriad 

rains, 

Peak-garnered  from  the  cloudy  foun- 
tain head. 


THE  PRAIRIE. 

An  inland  sea  of  acres  broad,  and  where 
The  undulating  grassy  billows   leap 

Exultantly ;  and  far  away,  and  fair, 
A  schooner  braves  the  mystic,  West- 
ern deep. 


GoD's  /baking, 


THE  SEA. 

Thou  art  the  vast  and  pulsing  heart  of 

earth, 

Twice  daily  swelled  in  adoration  of 
The  sun  and  moon,  and  thy  emotion's 

birth 

Betrays    Earth's   inmost    calms   and 
storms  of  love. 


THE  SKY. 

The  forehead  dome  of  Mother  Nature 

thou, 
Whereon  her  smiles  and  cloud-black 

frowns  are  wrought 

Unceasingly ;  and  Night  above  thy  brow 
Strews    diadems    inspiring    upward 
thought. 


10 


Gbe  tTndfan  Summer. 

God's  jewel  days!    His  flawless  jewel 

days 

That  flash  in  diamond  and  in  ruby  rays 
And  golden  topaz  tints,  and  each  and  all 
Bright  polished  on  the  sharp  frost-wheel 

of  Fall. 


A  dainty — soft,  impalpable  caress, 
Transparent,   tinged    with    rain-bow 

tints,  and  this 

Tide-launched    to    nestle    in     a  Sea- 
Nymph's  tress, 

For  lo !  'tis  love-sick  Neptune's  wave- 
lorn  kiss. 


11 


Xife'0  attributes. 

THE  MIND. 

God-planted  light  whose  rays,  dispelling 

Doubt, 
Illume  the  paths  and  days  of  age  and 

youth. 
But  oh !  if  e'er  'tis  dimmed,  or — worse 

— put  out, 

What  piteous  wrecks  drift  far  and  far 
from  Truth. 

THE  HEART. 

A  garden  spot  where  orchids,  like  to 

Love, 
By  gaudy  weeds  are  always  choked  for 

room, 
But  Gard'ner  Conscience,  standing  all 

above, 

Can  always  say  which  dies  and  which 
shall  bloom. 

18 


Xite's  attributes. 


THE  SOUL. 

A  hopeful,  clinging  Plant  that  every  day 
Starts  forth  afresh,  its  roots  in  human 

sod, 
And  ever  nears  its  bloss'ming; — 'tis  a 

stray 

And  wind-blown  seed — a  very  germ  of 
God. 

LOVE. 

Not  anything  of  lust  and  greed  and  fire, 
But  balm  of  gentleness  untold,  and 

whole 

Unselfishness, — aye,  infinitely  higher — 
The  Pollen  from  the  blossoms  of  the 
Soul! 


Cbe  jflooD. 

'Tis  said  that  all  was  wrong ; — mayhap 

'twas  fears 
Of  worse  to  come  God  had,  who  saw 

the  plights ; 
And  then   He  drowned  the  whole  in 

mighty  tears — 

For  lo  !  He  wept  for  forty  days  and 
nights. 


Return  to  earth,  oh  Jesus  Christ!  for 

here 

Is  vastest  need  of  miracle  divine; 
Speak  Thou  Thy  word  o'er  reeking 

floods  of  wine 

And  turn  them  back  to  water,  pure  and 
clear ! 


14 


Aafce* 


SATIETY. 


Faustina  gorged,  her  lips  and  eyes  in- 
flamed, 

Hands  goblet  after  goblet,  cloyed  with 

wine, 
Until    her   glutted    victim's    sense    is 

maimed, 
And  manly  hunger,  sotted,  falls  supine. 

MODERATION. 

Octavia,    earthly    spark    of    Heavenly 

fire, 
Dispenses  nectar  drop  by  drop,  and 

they, 
The  thirsty  souls  that  drink  —  and  know 

Desire- 

Climb  ever  Fountain  ward  the  lofty 
way. 


is 


Effort. 

The  Plain  of  Mediocrity  is  wide, 
Its  fruits  grow  cheap  and  green  be- 
neath the  sun, 

But  oh  !  bethink,  before  you  there  abide, 
The  best  is  always  waiting  to  be  won  ! 


Like  summer-seeking   birds  that  cross 

the  skies 
In   mile-high    flocks,    ten    thousand 

poems  wing 

Athwart  the  vault  of  thought ;  and  up- 
ward flies 

My  arrowed  pen,  and  fells — one  tiny, 
wounded,  trembling  thing. 


Sonnete, 


THE  HEART. 

Oh !  had   I   in  my  hands   the  power  to 

make 
Or  choose  the  great   Beyond  which 

death  will  bring; 

To  fix  the  compensation  for  the  sting 
Of  Life,  what  endless  heaven  would  I 

take  ? 

Why  not  a  blossom  be,  and  care  forsake, 
And  love  forever,  like  a  perfume,  fling 
To  saddened  hearts ;  to  make  the 

children  sing 

And  laugh ;  and  oh  !  to  see  a  joy  awake 
In  sunken,   weary  eyes;   to  greet   the 

morn 
With  dewy  smiles  ;  to  glad  some  desert 

spot 
Where  tired  feet    must    tread;  to 

ever  be 

In  matchless  lovliness  returned — reborn; 
To  always  live  and  love — oh  were 

this  not 

A     peaceful,     sweet    and     bright 
Eternity  ? 


13 


THE  MIND. 

Alas,  though   sweet  and   much,  this  is 

not  all 
That  heavenly  joy  could  be,  could  I 

but  choose; 
For,  drifted  on  the  storm,  the  flowers 

lose 
Their  path  and  may   'mid  ugly  briars 

fall; 
And,  always  on  the  ground,  their  joy 

must  pall. 
No,  let  me  as  a  bird  with  morning's 

dews 
Arise  each  lovely  day,  and  let  the 

muse 
Of  rapturous  song  be  in  my  heart  to 

call 

Forth  joy  and  life  in  every  woeful  breast ; 
Give  me  the  wings,  volition's  slaves, 

to  bear 
Me  ever  where  the  summer's  day 

may  be. 
What    though    I've    knowledge    none, 

'twill  be  a  rest 
To  lay   the  burden  down;  in   God's 

sweet  air 
To  live  and  sing  for  all  Eternity. 


19 


Bternftg. 


THE  SOUL. 

Oh  blissful,  only  Heaven!  not  birds  nor 

flowers 
Art  thou,  nor  selfish  joy,  nor  harps, 

nor  gold. 
Thou  art  of  meekness  and  of  love 

untold — 

Unknown,  unpracticed  in  this  vale  of 
showers, 

And  far  beyond  these  darkened  lives  of 

ours. 
Oh  grant  to  me  when  death  shall  next 

unfold 
The  binding  husks,  a  heart  no  longer 

cold, 
And  send  me  back,  but  not  to  Summer 

bowers 

Nor  happiness,  but  let  me  come  again 
To    earth    with    soul    so  great    that 
suffering 

Is  joy,  and  here,  'mid  deepest  misery 
Of    struggling  little  children,   women, 
men, 

Let  me  relieve,  partake  of  everything, 
Until  I  shall  deserve  Eternity. 


20 


B  "CUoman. 

Maid  she  was  not,  as  years  decree,  but, 

deep 
Within,  her  heart  was  maiden  young, 

for  so 
Hearts   ever  were  and  aie;    nor  did 

she  know 
What  pangs  and  loves  a  mother's  soul 

may  keep. 

No  wife  she  was,  nor  sister,  and  her  sleep 
Ne'er  brought  a  dream  of  times  when, 

long  ago, 
She    held    a   daughter's    place    and 

shared  young  woe 
With  one  whose   eyes   could  smile  or 

sweetly  weep 
In  sympathy  ;  but  God,  in  whispering 

wind, 
Had  called  her  Daughter,  and,  with 

soul  abloom, 
She  made  herself  a  Sister  to  the 

tried 
And  spent ;  nor  ceased  until  for  human 

kind 

She  lived  a  Mother's   life,  and  ban- 
ished gloom, 

And  lo  !  Joy  made  her  Wife  before 
she  died. 

21 


Why  is  it  that  the  groansome  loads  of 

Fate 

Are  thrust,  not  on  the  shoulders,  broad 
and  strong, 

Of  beings  swart  and  big,  who  daily 
throng 

The  ways  of  Life,  but  on  the  Souls  that 

late 
Have  staggered,  spent  and  tired,  from 

burdens  great, 
And  now  deserve  the  laurel  which 

their  long 
And  patient   suff' ring    earned  ?      It 

seems  all  wrong ! 
Why  cannot  Fate  attack  its  size  and 

mate  ? 
Great  God  ! — perhaps  it  does  ;  perhaps 

the  weak, 

Refined  and  pure,  are  ablest,  after  all 
To  bear  the  thorns  and  briers  that 

abound 
In    heaven's    path ;    and  when  they — 

aching,  meek — 
Complete    the    task    some    obstacle 

must  fall, 

And  Souls  of  Men  advance  another 
round. 


ttbe  Spirit  of  Gbristmas, 

Again  the  old,  young  day  that  gave  to 

earth 

The  Man  embodying  the  Godliness 
That's  in  us  all ;  again  the  day  we 

bless 
For  charities  and  gifts  and  hours  of 

mirth. 
But  oh,  before  the  year  that  gave  Him 

birth, 
The  world — that  heeded  sorrow,  knew 

distress — 

Possessed  its  heavenly  gift,  for  noth- 
ing less 
It  had  in  mothers,  sisters,  wives,  whose 

worth 

Is  scarce  conceded.     Yet  they  labor  on, 

Performing  miracles  whose  daily  pain 

Puts  death  to  shame.     And  when  I  see 

them  triced 
On  home-made  crosses  from  the  dawn 

to  dawn, 
Enduring  all,  and  less  in  sun  than 

rain, 

I  say,  the  world  is  full  of  Jesus 
Christ! 


Ifca&fga  tunas  Great. 


Mohammed,  with  a  mind  God-budded, 

wise 

While    yet    but    spring-time's    leafy 
hours  he  wore, 

Wed  Kadiga,  his  elder  by  a  score 
Of    years,  and    she,  whose  clear  pro- 

phetic eyes 
Saw  deep,  gave  autumn  fruits  that  he 

might  rise  ; 
And  she  alone  a  mother's  anguish 

bore, 
Of  all  his  wives.     In  later  years,  while 

sore 
With     jealousy,    Ayesha,  false,     with 

sighs, 
Said,  "Kadiga  was  old,  'twas  well  she 

died," 
But  oh  his  tears  rebuked  the  speech. 

Said  he, 
"  My  only  mate  she  was  —  my  dear- 

est Fate 
That  gave  me  strength  and  soul,  and  at 

my  side 
She  lives  ;  in  everything  she  guided 

me  — 

Oh  Kadiga  !  'twas  thou  wert  truly 
great!" 

24 


Within    a    glen,  a    pine — perhaps   too 

proud — 
Stood  towering  up,  and  lowly  plants 

that  crept 

Grew  all  aloof.     One  night  the  hill 
was  swept 

By  mighty  breaths  of  Jove,  and  then 
aloud 

Broke  forth  his  cannon-voice  and  from 

a  cloud 

His  bolt,  air-rending,  terrifying,  leapt 
To   smite  the    tree,  and  when    the 

heavens  wept 

They  laved  a  riven  trunk  which,  shat- 
tered, cowed, 
Shook  fearfully.     Late  came  the  morn, 

but  bright 
It  shone,  all  menace  gone.    And  lo ! 

the  vines, 

The  timid,  loving  vines,  approach  to 
see 

And  climb   and   kiss  the  wounds   and 
hide  from  sight 

The  lightning-blasted  torse,  and  each 

entwines 

And    clings    through    storm    and 
shine  in  Sympathy. 


Cbe  Qbcliefc  in  Central  patfe. 

Transplanted  thing  of  days  and  peoples 

dead 

And  gone,  how  full  of  mystic  dignity 
Thou  art ;    how  hard  and  long  and 

stubbornly 
Thy  granite  holds  thy  signs,  which  not 

the  tread 
Of  mighty  Time  stamps  out ; — and  yet, 

the  thread 
Of  occult  writings  once  engraved  on 

thee 
Is  broke,  for  on  that  side  which  knew 

no  lee 
From  constant — biting  winds,  a  single 

shred 
Of  deep-cut  things  remains.     Perhaps 

that  side 
Was  wrought  with  idols  vain,  a  crude 

array 
That  mocked  at  heav'n  and  all  the 

truths  that  be—; 
And  then   the   sands  of  Him   swirled 

fierce  to  chide, 
And  plane  the    carvings   off — as    if 

He'd  say, 

"  Thou  shalt  not  have  another  God 
than  Me!  " 


Stone  anfc  Soul, 

(On  seeing  the  picture  :  "Napoleon  before  the  Sphinx.") 

Behold  great    Bonaparte  as    there  he 

stands 

And  gazes  on  the  Sphinx,  whose  soli- 
tude 
No  vaster  than  his  own  can  be ;  whose 

rude 
Kough-sculptured  mystery,  half  hid  in 

sands, 

Lone  rival  is  to  his;  whose  face  commands 
A  fellowship  with  all  this   awesome 

mood 
By  ages  gone  bequeathed  ;  and  there 

its  nude 
Hewn  paws  extend    in  welcome  to  his 

hands. 

Oh  wondrous  pile  and  mighty,  that  defies 
The  sand-toothed  blast,  and  Time's 

austere  attack! 
Thou   shalt    dissolve  and   crumble 

down  to  dust, 
Ere   age    shall    touch  that   Soul  that 

through  the  skies 
Of  great  eternity  goes  gladly  back, 
Refined    and   chaste,   to  God    and 
Love  and  Trust. 


Sacrificed. 


Incessant  Sea,  I   hear  you  pound  and 

pound 
Upon  your  shores  of  sharp,  unyielding 

stones, 
And    hear    your  mighty  roar,   your 

sobbing  moans, 
As  wave  on  wave  'gainst  jagged  cliff  is 

ground 
And  churned  to  foam.     Yea,  too,  I  hear 

the  sound 
Of  anguish-smitten  men  whose  million 

bones 
Are  smashed  and  wrecked  on  Doubt; 

and  naught  atones 

For  Individual  woes  —  yet  all  are  bound 
To  break,  as  waves,  and  do  their  meager 

mite 
For  one  grand  common  good.     And 

look  !  behold  ! 
The  granite's  edge  is  rounded  by  the 

tooth 

Of  unrelenting  seas  that  day  and  night 
Grind  on  ;  and  Doubt,  the  grim,  the 

dark,  the  cold, 

By  Thought  is  worn  —  and  under- 
neath is  Truth. 


Bet  Cbete  J3e 


Long  distant  times  apart  there  came  to 

Earth 
A  Buddha  and  a  Christ,  and  these,  to 

save 
The  peoples  groping  there,  their  wis- 

dom gave 
And  lives.     And  now  again  a  mighty 

dearth 
Of  goodness  reigns,  and  greed  and  lust 

have  birth 
Of  Ignorance  —  than  which  no  greater 

knave 
E'er  stalked  abroad  or  held  as  help- 

less slave 
The  Soul  of  Man.     Oh  God!  what  is 

the  worth 
Of   all  the  creeds   which   ever  fail  to 

reach 
The  multitudes  in  darkness?    Make 

the  blaze 

Of  education  scatter  wide  the  night, 
That  we  may  not  to  senseless  sinners 

preacn  ! 
O  Thou,  the  Great,  Almighty  One, 

upraise 

Thy   voice    again    and    cry,    "Let 
There  be  Light!" 


29 


Gbe  Sun. 

"The   Sun  has    set,"  we    sigh,    "and 

oh !  'tis  drear 
And  chill,  and  night  comes  down," — 

or  else  we  say 
"Behold  it  rise  in  purple  mists,  and 

day 
Spread  far  and  soft  and  bright !  "  Suns 

do  appear 
To  rise  and  set,  but  oh !  they're  shining 

clear 
And  always   bright — 'tis   Earth  that 

turns  away 
And  makes  its  bleak  and  then,  anon, 

its  gay 
Warm    hours    and    days.      Thus    too, 

though  joy  be  near 
And  steadfast  in  its  gleams,  we  turn 

and  turn 
And  get  its   beams  where  shadows 

gloomed  before; 
But  all  the  while,  behind,  a  darkness 

lies 
To    blend    its    edge    with  light's,  and 

though  we  yearn 
To  have  on  every  side  our  sunshine 

pour, 

It  must  be  best  as  'tis,  for  God  is 
wise. 


God's  Voice* 

Vast  space — unsearched,  forbidding,  full 

of  dread 

And  mystery — affrighted  very  light ; 
And  cavern   glooms    were    fountain 

heads  of  night 
And  awesomeness ;  and  e'en  the  pulsing 

tread 
Of  Time  came  not — a  region  for  the 

dead 
Of    universes    'twas,  whose    dreary 

plight 

Originated  misery  and  blight 
Of  hopes,   and    doubt,   but    when    all 

hope  was  fled 
Behold !  a  sound  vibrating  through  the 

air, 
Exploring  inmost  cells — which  naught 

before 
Had  reached — shook  atoms    down 

with  deafening  jars, 
And  piled  them  hugely,  mass  on  mass, 

and  there, 
When  Sound  had  finished,  chaos  was 

no  more, 

For  lo !  God's  voice  it  was,  creating 
stars ! 

31 


IRon&eauy. 


B  3bou0anD  ^ears  Bgo. 

RONDEAU. 

A  thousand  years  ago  and  thou  and  I, 
Who  loved  each  other  then  and  knew 

not  why, 
Were  thrust  apart,  and  in  my  place 

stood  he, 

Who,  blind  to  all  of  Fate's  affinity, 
Possessed  thee,  caged — a  bird  denied 
the  sky. 

I  saw  the  eons  pass,  the  centuries  die, 
And  waited ;  well  I  knew  the  mystic  tie 
Of  Love  would  last  that  bound  both 
you  and  me 

A  thousand  years  ago. 

And  now  our    Union-Time   the    gods 

supply  ; 
Twas  worth  the   patience,  worth    the 

while  to  vie 
With   Time,   but  wer't  not    yet  for 

years  to  be, 
So  much  I  love  that  I  would  wait  for 

thee 

As  once  before  I  did — with  just  a  sigh — 
A  thousand  years  ago. 

33 


Bot  f)a\?e  Gbee 


RONDEAU. 

I  would  not  have  thee  change  a  single 

way 

Of  thine,  howbeit,  if  or  sad  or  gay 
Or  set  to  mystic  strains  that  bind  me 

o'er 
And    o'er    again  —  nay,    though     thy 

power  is  more 
And  subtler  far  than  that  of  elfin  fay. 

And  when  thine  eyes  express  the  gen- 

tlest nay 
To  hasteful  love,  and  bid  it  trembling 

stay 
And    quietly    approach    the    sacred 

door  — 
I  would  not  have  thee  change. 

For  oh  !  dear  heart  !  it  seems  as  if  a  ray 
Of  brightness  rare  thou  art,  and  this, 

the  day 
You  let  me  come  within  thy  heart  to 

pour 

My  love,  I'm  lifted  up  to  almost  soar 
With  thee  and  from  my  inmost  soul  I 

say, 
I  would  not  have  thee  change. 

34 


Gbe  tflelvet  of  ab£  Dante, 


RONDEAU. 

The  velvet  of  thy  hands,  as  chaste  as 

snow, 
But  warm  and  soft  and  all  with  health 

aglow, 
Enchants   me   quite  ;    small   wonder 

that  in  bliss 
I  hold  them  both,  nor  deem  it  comes 

amiss 
To   touch,   caress   them,   tenderly  and 

slow. 

No  fabrics  done  in  silks,  no  downs  that 

blow 
From  wings  of  bees,  as  zephyr  tossed 

they  go 

The  orchard  blossoms  through,  com- 
pares with  this  — 

The  velvet  of  thy  hands. 

35 


Cbc  Delvet  of  abg  f>an&0. 


And  on  the   night  when  first  I  found 
them  so, 

Ethralled   I   stood    and   bended   down, 
and  oh  ! 

They  throbbed  so  gently  'neath   the 

lingering  kiss ; 
And  now  'twould  plunge  me  deep  in 

woe's  abyss 

If  thou  shouldst  say  I  must  not  touch 
nor  know 

The  velvet  of  thy  hands. 


2>awn  Cbat'0  1Fn  Gbine 


RONDEAU. 

The  dawn  that's  in  thine  eyes,  ah  gently 

bright, 
Breaks  forth  and  floods  thy  cheeks  with 

rosy  light 
And  tints    of  pink,  and    leaves   the 

softest  gray 

In  dimple  nooks  and  'neath  thy  chin 

to  play 

In  winsomeness  that  charms  my  linger- 
ing sight. 

Then  Love,  like  birds  that  sweetest  songs 

indite 
To  morning's  birth,  sings  forth  with  all 

its  might 

To  plead  and  plead  thou  wilt  not  turn 
away 

The  dawn  that's  in  thine  eyes. 

37 


Dawn  Cbat's  fn  Gbtne 


For  now  my  soul's  awake  and  wings  its 

flight 
To  compass  what  thy  sunshine  smiles 

invite  ; 
And  when  it  seems  as  if  Life's  golden 

day 
Had  lost,  in  clouds,  its  hope-inspiring 

ray, 

I   look  and  see  —  outsmiling  gloom   or 
night  — 

The  dawn  that's  in  thine  eyes. 


TRegal  Ibeart. 

RONDEAU. 

Thy  regal  heart,  which  I  have  dared  to 
woo, 

Sways  such  a  gentle  power  and  subtly 
new, 

That  I,  republican,  am  wrought  to  fall 

On  bended  knee,  and  there  to  offer  all 

My  liberties  to  monarchy — in  you. 

Strange  scepter  is  it  that  can  thus  undo 

My  precepts  hard  and  furnish  me,  in  lieu, 

A  plot  to  build  a  throne  and  there 
install 

Thy  regal  heart. 

But,  dear,  I  love  the  change.    I  love  the 
view 

Thy  ways  have  opened,  and  I'll  gladly 
strew 

The  way  with  blooms  that  leads  within 

thy  halt- 
But   I'll   conspire  that  you  one  day 

shall  call 

A  consort  to  the  throne  that's  built  unto 
Thy  regal  heart. 


Gbere'0  flo  Bscape, 

RONDEAU. 

There's  no  escape  for  me,  for  thine 
Are  charms  that  all  my  love  entwine, 
And  bid  it  linger  close  to  thee, 
As  zephyrs  do  to  meadow  lee — 
As  sighs  do  to  the  swaying  pine. 

'Tis  Heaven  rules ;  should  you  consign 
My  love  to  torture,  keen  and  fine, 
'Twould  linger,  wounded,  constantly — 
There's  no  escape. 

But,  dear,  thy  wooing  heart  benign, 
Love-haloed,  is  a  mercy  shrine 
At  which  I  kneel  on  willing  knee, 
And  naught  can  part  the  chain  on  me ; 
Not  even  death  can  break  the  line. 
There's  no  escape. 


Gbe  night  *aie  traded  1Rfn00. 

RONDEAU. 

The  night  we  traded  rings,  the  chandelier 
Poured  witching  light  within  thine  eyes, 

and  clear 
And    dear    they    beamed;  we    both 

averred 
'Twas  just  for  fun,  and  yet  my  heart 

was  stirred 

Until  I  thought  its  tale  of  throbs  you'd 
hear. 

We  laughing  stood,  and  thou,  oh  thou 

wert  near ! 

And  then  I  placed  my  ring,  a  souvenir 
Of  all,  upon  thy  hand ;  strange  things 

occurred 
The  night  we  traded  rings. 

41 


Hiabt  We  (Traded 


For  since  that  time  thy  voice  is  in  mine 

ear, 
And    something    passed     that    lingers 

sweetly  here 
Within  my  soul  —  for  oh  !  the  things 

it  heard  ! 
And,  though  we  dared  not  breathe  the 

tingling  word, 
'Twas  hearts  we  gave,  thine  own  con- 

fessed it,  dear, 
The  night  we  traded  rings. 


42 


Sbc  Sings  of  Xove. 

RONDEAU. 

She  sings  of  love,  ah  yes,  and  deems  it 

fair 

To  choose  a  wooing,  sentimental  air 
When  Harry  comes  to  call ;  but  oh  ! 

to  hear 
The  sad,  sad  things — alas,  that  bring 

no  tear — 

She  sings  for  those  for  whom  she  does 
not  care. 

Yea,  too,  and  songs  of  war,   until  the 

hair 

Is  like  to  stand,  and  suitors  harldy  dare 
To  breathe;   and  then,  oh  strange! 
when  Harry's  near 
She  sings  of  love. 

Perhaps  'tis  chance  some  songs  should 
bring  despair, 

43 


Sbe  Sings  ot  Xox>e. 


While  cooing  things  reach   forth  and 

hearts  ensnare, 
Who  knows  ?     Mayhap  'tis  subtle  art, 

and  dear. 
But,  after  all,  there's  only  this  that's 

clear, 

Though  war  she  sings  at  some,  when 
Harry's  there 
She  sings  of  love. 


Sbe  "Rea&a  f>is  TAote. 

RONDEAU. 

She  reads  his  note  and  smiles,  and  in 

her  eye 
Is  twinkling  light,  while  tints  all  pink 

and  shy 
Arise    to   warm  her  cheeks ;    you'd 

think  that  he 
Had  penned  exceeding  well  if  you 

could  see 
Her  tuck  the  note  away  and  turn  to  fly 

Adown  the  curving  orchard  path,  where 

lie 
Sweet  petals  dipped  in  pink,  the  maiden 

shy 

Slips  quite  alone,  and  then,  all  blush- 
ingly, 

She  reads  his  note. 

The  butterflies    and    bees    and    birds 
know  why 

45 


Sbe  TCea&a  1bf  smote. 


Her  slender  hands  keep  wandering  up 

to  pry 
The  portals  o'er  her  heart.     Is  love 

the  key 
That   solves  the  maiden's  wondrous 

mystery  ? 

Who  knows?    The  fiftieth  time,  with 
heartsome  sigh, 
She  reads  his  note. 


Sbc  BnswereD  i?e0. 

RONDEAU. 

She  answered   yes,  although  no  word 

she  said 
Nor  whispered  shyly,  but  her  nodded 

head 
And  gleaming  eyes  were  eloquent  of 

thought 
And  sweet  consent,  while  on  her  lips 

was  nought 
But  smiling  yes,  that  came  and  coyly 

fled, 

The  while  her  hands,  in  his,  dear  an- 
swer sped 
Straight  to  his  heart ;  and  then,  with 

sighs  instead 

Of  words,  to  own  herself  as  caught, 
She  answered  yes. 


He  wins,  yet  now  he  stands  with  half- 
real  dread 


Sbe  Bnswerefc 


To  beg  a  kiss,  to  which  all-trembling  led 
His  faltering    words,    and   then,   by 

Cupid  taught, 
Love's  gentlest  plea  has  coaxed  the 

boon  he  sought, 

For — well — dear    maid,    with    lips     all 
blushing  red, 
She.  answered  yes. 


TO)en  JBabs  Smiles. 

RONDEAU. 

When  baby  smiles  'tis  dainty,  faint — a 

stray, 
Soft  dawn  of  mirth  to  come — but  elders 

say 
Tis  not  a  smile  at  all,  and  laugh  to 

see 
The  mother  try  to  coax  and  woo  the 

wee, 
Dim  sign  that  may  not  come  again  all 

day. 

But  then  her  eyes,  that  watch  the  hours 

away, 
More  keenly  see;  and,  oh,  the  lovesome 

play 

That  'twixt  the  two  goes  blithsomely 
When  baby  smiles. 

And  when  at  last  'tis  sure  the  elfin  fay 
Has  really  learned,  why,  then  it  is  that 
they 

49 


TKHben  ffiabE  Smiles. 


Who  doubted  most    are  generously 

free 
With  tribute  kisses,  and  on  tireless 

knee 

The    household    bends,    and    all    are 
sweetly  gay, 
When  baby  smiles. 


50 


TOen  $abB  Xearns  to  IRtes. 

RONDEAU. 

When  baby  learns  to  kiss  and  puts  her 

sweet 
Dear  puckered  little  mouth  right  up  to 

meet 
An  older  one,  'tis  like  a  bud  might 

rise 

To  woo  the  honey-seeking  butterflies, 
And  with  the  older  velvet  blooms  com 
pete; 

'Tis  like  the  winsome  tread  of  fairy's 

neat 
And  dainty-touching,  blush-compelling 

feet 

Upon  a  sunny  beam  athwart  the  skies, 
When  baby  learns  to  kiss. 

And  like  it  is  to  dewy  touch,  so  fleet, 
Of  dawn  that  flushes  in  her  East  retreat; 
For  lo,  'tis  softly  shy  and  fairy  size, 
And  wet  as  lips  of  nectar-strewing 

skies ; 

And  mamma's  joy  is    boundless    and 
complete 

When  baby  learns  to  kiss. 

51 


Miscellaneous, 


1f  Dreameo  ot  Xove. 

I  dreamed  that  on  a  hill  serenest  Night 
Descended,  and  she  gently  bore  away 
Her  dearest    sister,   Twilight,    in    her 

arms, 

And  over  all  the  place  she  calmly  took 
The  sleeper's  post  to  watch  for  coming 

dawn. 
Her    million    hosts    of    fairies    lightly 

tripped 
From  out  the  scented  bushes  and  the 

trees ; 
Or  stepped  with  dainty  tread  from  many 

flowers 

Till  all  were  come  together  in  the  grass. 
The  tiny  Queen,  whose  harshest  sum- 
mons scarce 
Seemed  half  as  loud  as  sleeping  linnet's 

sweet 
And  fluttering  note  within  her  happy 

heart, 
Was    gaily    answered    by    a   thousand 

slaves 

53 


1T  2>rcamefc  of  Xov>e. 


Whose  only  bonds  were  friendship's 
silken  cords ; 

And  these  illumed  their  lamps  and, 
skimming  o'er 

The  reaching,  longing  petals  and  the 
fays, 

They  lighted  up  the  wondrous  grassy 
halls 

Where  all  could  dance  to  crickets'  cheer- 
ful tunes. 

Then  came  the  blushing  moon,  all  rosy 
red, 

To  peep  above  the  fragrant  elms  and 
oaks 

That  stood  as  silhouetted  guards  above 

The  elf-lit  scene.  And  thou  wert  at  my 
side, 

Thy  hand  almost  in  mine,  thy  blushes 
warm — 

Oh  so  inviting  to  my  yearning  lips  ; 

And  sat  we  two — perhaps  'twas  proph- 
ecy— 

Upon  the  steps  that  easy  made  the  way 

Within  a  little  chapel-house  that  rose 

54 


1F  Dreamed  of  Xox>e. 


Above  the  lovesome  earth. 

So  this,  the  prelude  first 

Was  witching  fair  to  see ;   but  then  it 
seemed 

The    inky    woods    outstretched    their 
beck'ning  arms 

And  took  my  soul  to  darkness,  doubt- 
fulness, 

And  lured  my  erring  heart  with  weirdly 
grave 

Enchantment,   potent,   subtle;    all  the 
while 

The    whispering    leaves  and  branches 
overhead 

Were  plotting  darksomely  the  moon  to 
hide; 

And  down  below  the  tangled,  hugging 
vines, 

With    gnomish   ways,   tripped   up    my 
trembling  feet. 

Thus    sombre,    gruesome,  full  of    mys- 
tery, 

With  strange  misgivings   fraught,  this 
place 

55 


f  Breamed  of  Xove. 


Absorbed  the  whole  of  Faith  and  bred 
Despair. 

Once  more  the  level  fields,  the  jewelled 

grass, 
The  faithful  flying  lamps  that  show  the 

way 
Through  all  the  little  caverns  in  the 

ground — 
Wherein,  though  small,  the  blackness  is 

intense 

As  any  in  the  wood;  and  there  I  prayed, 
"  Oh,  may  we  never  have  an  ebon  Care — 
A  cavern  full  of  gloom,  of  trouble, 

doubt — 
So  large  but  that  the  single  cheerful 

ray 

Of  just  one  tiny,  glowing,  flashing  fly 
May  drive  it  far  away — dispelled  and 

gone — 
And  in  its  place  be  Light  and  Faith 

and  Love." 


Organ's  Xov>e. 

'Tis  in  the  dusk,  the  sunlight's  glow 
Falls  softly,  tinged  with  red  and  gold  ; 
The  stillness,  sanctified  and  old, 
Is  hardly  touched  and  yet  I  know 
It  is  my  love  whose  gentle  tread 
Glides  by  the  patches  gold  and  red ; 
My  love  it  is,  whose  glances  soft, 
Precede  her  to  my  dingy  loft. 

She  comes — sad  little  heart  is  she 
Who  brings  her  sighs  and  tears  to  me ; 
Who  brings  her  soul  to  let  it  free 
With  inspiration's  symphony ; 

To  weave  sublime 

Enchanting  rhyme; 
To  give  her  being  up  to  mine ; 
To  conjure  melodies  divine. 

She  touches  on  my  dearest  notes 
And  far  away  the  sobbing  floats, 
And,  rising,  falling,  all  the  wails 
More  tenderly  than  lovers'  tales 
Ebb  forth  and,  trembling  on  the  air, 

57 


tlbe  ©roan's  Xove. 


Plead  plaintively.     It  is  my  heart 
Pulsating  wildly  to  her  there. 

She  knows  it,  yet  she  does  not  start, 
Nor  take  her  ringers,  soft  and  white, 
From    off    my    quivering    keys.      The 

night 
And  darkness  fail  to  dim  her  sight 

Or  drag  her  soul  and  mine  apart. 

She  leans  and  sways  and  every  tone 
Of  mine  is  more  and  more  her  own, 
And  hers  are  mine,  until  the  theme 
Of  all  my  loving,  like  a  dream, 
Steals  on  her  sense ;  and  now  I  seem 
To  pour  the  love  that  s  in  the  strain 
Into  her  willing  ears.     Her  brain 
No  longer  rules  the  lofty  train 
Of  passion's  rhyme,  but  it  is  I, 
Controlling  her,  who  breathes  the  sigh 
Of  love's  resistless  ecstasy. 

Then  with  a  lover's  mighty  strength 
I  fill  the  sanctum  full  of  love, 

More  deep,  more  holy,  till  at  length 
It  vibrates  all — below,  above  ; 


Obe  Organ's 


And  deeper,  deeper,  deeper  still 
It  seems  the  sacred  place  to  fill 
With  harmony  sublime.     And  more 

Tremendous,  lifting,  pure  it  swells, 
As  if  'twould  break  through  every  door 

And  barrier  to  souls.     It  wells 
From  every  reed  and  breath,  from  all 
My  being,  and  from  wall  to  wall 
The  whole  vast  volume  crowds  around 

Her  form — each  note  a  circling  arm 
Embracing  her — each  chord  and  sound 

Enticing  forth  her  soul  with  charm 
Hypnotic.     Ah  such  awful  power, 
In  such  a  place,  at  such  an  hour ! 

Too  great !  too  much  !  her  little  face 
Sinks  forward  on  the  keys ;  the  place 
Re-echoes  with  a  lonely  chord — 
The  last  of  all  that  mighty  horde — 
It  seeks  her  heart,  and  there  at  rest 
Is  nestled  in  her  sleeping  breast. 


XCbe  migbt  Skater, 

Oh!  the  smooth  black  ice,  the  mysterious 

black, 

And  the  clink  of  my  runners  of  steel, 
And  the  boom  and  the  crack  that  go 

echoing  back, 

And  the  swiftness  of  wind  that  I  feel 
As  I  glide  like  a  shade 
Through  the  air  that's  afraid 
To  follow  behind  on  my  track  ! 

Oh!  the   star-lit  black,   the  mysterious 

glass, 

The  magnet  that  clinks  on  the  steel, 
And  the   dead,  frosted  grass  and  the 

trees  as  I  pass 

Crane  forward  to  witness  the  zeal 
Of  my  race  with  the  sound 
That  goes  booming  around, 
Like  the  ghostly  huzzas  of  the  mass. 

Oh!  the  deep  black  ice,  the  mysterious 

black, 

And  the  clink  of  the  steel  as  I  go, 
And  the  boom  and  the  crack  that  come 

echoing  back 

Like   the   voices  of  gnomes  down  be- 
low! 

And  the  Future's  the  shade 
That's  before,  and  dismayed 
Is  the  Past  that's  behind  on  my  track  1 


Oo&'s  Sun. 

A  dreary,  cold,  wet  morn ; 

No  smile  in  Nature's  face  ; 

No  song  of  sweet-voiced  birds ; 
No  happiness  is  born. 

Young  flowers  droop  and  die, 

Die  pining  for  the  sun 
That  will  not  shine  to-day 

To  warm  the  cheerless  air, 
The  morning  damp  and  gray. 

My  heart  is  sad,  and  pain 

Is  in  its  lifeless  throb ; 

No  love  nor  joy  is  there ; 
Its  tears  in  silence  rain. 

Its  dearest  hopes  seem  dead. 

Dead,  waiting  for  the  sun 
Companionship  could  bring, 

Which  will  not  come  to-day 
To  ask  my  soul  to  sing. 

But  ah  !  God's  sun  will  shine ; 

The  clouds  will  waste  away ; 

Despair  and  chill  depart  ; 
The  song  and  love  be  mine. 

Glad  Summer's  days  and  Fate's 

Will  bring  the  flowers  and  birds, 
Will  bring — He  wills  they  must — 

Contentment,  soulful  peace, 
Complete,  confiding  trust. 

61 


proEmption. 

Say,  do  you  hope  to  make  your  mark 
Upon  her  heart  so  soft  and  fair  ? 

Set  up  your  post  in  that  sweet  park, 
A  warning  'gainst  men  treading  there? 

For  if  you  do  I  ought  to  tell 
That  such  a  thing  can  never  be. 

The  fact  is — and  it's  just  as  well — 
Her  heart's  already  marked — for  me. 


an  about  ft* 

All  about  it  will  I  tell  thee ; 

Thou  hast  seen 

All  the  sheen 
Of  the  lake  beneath  the  kiss 

Of  the  moon ; 

Or  at  noon 

Thou  hast  seen  the  ardent  rays  of  the 
sun 

Bring  a  blush 

And  a  flush 
On  the  ripples  as  they  run ; 

More  than  this 

Thou  hast  won, 

Dear,  from  me. 

All  about  it  will  I  tell  thee; 

Thou  hast  known 

How  alone 
Is  the  mateless  nightingale ; 

How  at  night, 

In  its  plight, 


an  B&cut  irt. 


It  has  sighed  its  mournful  note  in  the 
tree ; 

How  the  hill 

And  the  rill 
Echoed  low  in  sympathy ; 

Deeper  tales, 

Plaintively, 

Sigh  from  me. 

All  about  it  will  I  tell  thee ; 

Thou  hast  heard 

Every  Mrd, 
In  its  mating,  sing  of  love ; 

Thou  hast  pressed 

To  thy  breast 
Roses  wild,  breathing  love  ere  they  die, 

When  a  bee, 

Buzzingly, 
Brings  another's  pollen  sigh  ; — 

All  above 

These  am  I, 

Loving  thee. 


"King. 

Blushing  and  flushing,  a  bride  of  a  day — 
Tingling    with    altar-felt    throbbings 

that  sing 
Sweet  in  her  bosom — entranced  by  the 

ray 
That    dances    about    on    her    plain 

golden  ring, 
Soft  kisses  the  emblem  of  love ;  and  it 

gleams, 
And  Dawn-light  of  sacredness  warms  in 

its  beams. 

Smiling,   a   wife,   half  years   over   the 

way, 
Tingling  with  mother-felt  throbbings 

that  sing 
Sweet  in  her  bosom — made  glad  by  the 

ray 
That  dances  about  on  her  plain,  golden 

ring- 
Soft  kisses  the  emblem  of  love ;  and  it 

seems 

65 


(Tbe 


That  Noon-beams  of  sacredness  warm 
in  its  gleams. 

Sighing,   a    grandmother,    Time-kissed 

and  gray — 
Tingling  with  mem'ry-felt  throbbings 

that  sing 
Faintly  but  sweetly — is  warmed  by  the 

ray 
That  sparkles  undimmed  on  her  worn 

golden  ring, 
And  kisses  the  emblem  of  love;  and  it 

beams, 
And  Sunset  of  sacredness  glows  in  its 

gleams. 

Oh  wholesome,  finger-clasping  band  of 

guardian  gold, 
All  unadorned,   thine  atoms,   virgin 

pure, 
Time-burnished,    gleam    with    warmth 

that  grows  not  old 

And  teach  the  way  that  loving  should 
endure ! 


flfcemon>  Came. 

The  warm  and  ruddy  glow, 

Where  the  coals  were  burning  low 

In  the  grate, 

Was  cheerful,  warming,  kind 
To  my  lone  and  bach'lor  mind 

Grown  sedate, 

So  I  sat ;  and  then  it  seemed — 
Or  perhaps  I  may  have  dreamed — 

'Twas  the  bloom 
And  the  tint  a  fairy  fay 
Brought  to  scatter  dark  away 

From  the  room. 

An  olden  mem'ry  then 
Came  within  my  soul  again, 

Where  it  stayed ; 
For  there  climbed  upon  my  chair 
A  youngster  bright  and  fair, 

And  we  played. 
I  could  feel  her  chubby  form 
Cuddling,  confident  and  warm, 

To  my  breast, 
And  I  felt  the  pleasure  race 
To  my  cheek,  whereon  her  face 

Gently  pressed. 

67 


Bn  ©IDcn  flbemorg  Came* 


Then  she  said  she'd  like  to  "yide 
On  a  horsey,"  so  we  tried 

On  the  rug ; 

For  I  got  upon  my  knees 
And  my  hands,  and  quite  at  ease — 

With  a  hug — 
She  clung  astride  my  back, 
And  with  such  a  winsome  whack 

Said  "Go  'long." 
Oh,  we  romped  an  hour  away 
And  her  laughter  was  a  gay, 

Chuckling  song. 

And  the  joy  her  "horsey"  felt, 
As  he  pranced  around  and  knelt 

At  commands, 
Was  innocent  and  deep 
And  he  longed  his  lips  to  keep 

On  her  hand. 

"  Baby  seepy,"  then  she  said, 
And  she  nestled  close  her  head 

To  my  chin, 

Where  I  held  her  close,  the  while 
My  heart  with  boundless  smile 

Beat  within. 

Then  the  lashes  of  her  eyes 
Drew  the  portals  close  with  ties 
Soft  as  silk, 


68 


Bn  ®lDen  /fcemorg  Came. 


While  a  smile  came  in  to  float 
All  above  her  dainty  throat 

White  as  milk. 
Oh!  I  couldn't  help  but  kiss 
Her  petal  cheek,  but  this 

Broke  the  charm, 
For  I  felt  her  strangely  fade 
Like  an  evanescent  shade 

From  my  arm ; 

Then  I — well — perhaps,  awoke, 
And  its  likely  that  I  spoke 

To  the  air, 

For  my  arms  felt  oddly  light 
And  empty ;  But  the  night 

Didn't  care. 

It  had  taken  back  the  kind 
Cheerful  things  and  left  my  mind 

More  sedate — 
Taken,  too,  the  ruddy  glow, 
Leaving  ashes  cold  as  snow 

On  the  grate. 


JBacbelor  Song, 

Heigho,  heigho — a  bachelor  song  ? 

Why,  yes,  I'll  sing  one,  gay  and  filled 
With  all  the  fun  we  have,  and  long 
Twill    never    be.      Let's     see;    we're 

thrilled 

With  daily  joys  of  being  free 
From  household  cares  and  nursery, 

And  wives — hold  on  ;  I've  seen  a  few 

Dear  souls  who  really  ought  to  do 

As  helpful  mates — and    youngsters, 

too. 

Why  bless  you,  there  is  nothing  quite 
So  sure  to  dim  my  hardened  sight 

As  just  to  have  some  little  child 
Climb  trustfully  upon  my  knee 

And  pat  my  face  and  look  with  mild 
Confiding  eyes  on  lonely  me — 

Some  lucky  daddy's  tot ;  and  when 
I  leave  his  cheerful  hearth  and  go 

And  sit  within  my  bachelor  den, 
Tis  then  I  sing  the  song — heigho ! 


dfcen  TKHbo  Xtve  Blone. 


Ho,  ho,  ha,  ha,  the  jolly  men 

Who  live  alone  —  why  yes 

We  have  our  homes,  that  is,  I  guess 
The  rest  adopt  a  den 
That's  like  to  mine,  and  have  a  place  — 

Up  high  sometimes,  you  know  — 
But  that's  a  splendid  thing  to  brace 

A  fellow  up  who's  slow 
At  climbing;  and  they're  not  too  small 

Nor  yet  too  large.     Now  mine 
Is  snug  and  warm,  except  when  all 

The  oil's  burned  out,  arid  fine. 
But,  say,  my  view  across  the  street 

Is  —  well  —  disturbing  ;  —  nay, 
Not  quite  so  bad,  because  it's  sweet 

And  good,  but  every  day, 
Or  evening,  I  can  look  across, 

Through  windows  clear  and  bright, 
And  see  a  father  romp  and  toss 

His  youngsters  in  the  light 
That  glows  from  out  his  fire,  and  see 

His  wife  look  smiling  on 
And  kiss  the  babies  lovingly, 

Until  —  the  picture's  gone. 
They  pull  the  curtain  down  and  then 

I'm  cheerful  as  a  stone, 
And  laugh,  ha  ha,  the  jolly  men 
Who  live  in  "  rooms,"  alone. 

71 


r 


B  JBacbelor  Coast. 

How  now,  a  toast,  from  bachelor  lips 
To  please  the  bride  who  sweetly  slips 

The  golden  Hymen  kiss  upon 
Her  tingling  finger  ?    Be  it  so ; 
May  garland  words  all  smoothly  flow 
To  weave  a  blessing  of  to  use 

To  crown  her  with,  for  lo,  'tis  won 
This  lovesome  day.     Then  in  a  glass 

Of  clearest  water,  bright  and  pure, 
I'll  pledge  her  happiness,  nor  pass 

The  words  in  wine,  for  springs  endure 
When  grapes  are  dry  of  joy.     I  toast 
Whatever  joy  is  innermost 
Within  her  aeart — the  joy  that  she 
In  secret  keeps  full  sacredly 
For  husband  eyes.     And  may  its  shrine 

Be  petal-hid  by  blooms  of  love 
That  thrive  anear  a  heart  and  twine 

Like  gentlest  arms,  around,  above 
And  all  about.     And  always  may 
The  melody  that  throbs  to-day — 
The  heart  duet — that,  blended  fair, 


r 


B  JBacbclov  Coast. 


Goes  forth,  one  song,  upon  the  air — 
Ring  crystal  clear ;  and  be  it  told 
Till  all  the  sands  of  Time  are  old ! 

O  altar  stars  celestial !  bless 
The  Tightness  and  the  wholesomeness 
Of  wed-locked  pairs  !  make  joy  divine 
Within  their  souls,  as  once  in  mine 
I  thought  to  have — for  lo,  'tis  good 
To  save  a  man  from  bachelorhood ! 


Gen  fffngers. 

With  a  cute  little  trot 

Went  a  brown  little  tot, 
O'er  bubbling  and  crowing  with  glee, 

And  up  to  her  throat 

Came  a  wee  furry  coat, 
And  hugging  her  tight  as  could  be. 

In  her  pink  little  hand 

Was  a  ringer,  and  tanned 
Quite  dark — or  at  least,  so  I  thought — 

But  'twas  papa's,  and  so 

She  just  clasped  it  as  though 
Great  fingers  too  rarely  are  caught. 

And  I  lingered  and  walked 
On  behind  as  they  talked 

And  laughed  ;  and  I  envied  the  coat — 
The  brown  one  so  snug — 
And  I  envied  the  hug 

That  it  gave  from  her  heels  to  her  throat. 
Then  I  looked  at  my  own 
Biggish  hands,  that  have  known 

So  little  of  love's  wholesome  clasp, 
And  behold,  there  are  ten 
Lonesome  fingers,  but  then 

What  tot  would  a  one  of  them  grasp  ? 

74 


Hbe  <3low  in  tbc  (State. 

Oh  no,  we  do  not  want  the  light 
To  drive  the  shadows  forth  to-night, 

To  battle  with  the  wind. 
Come  sit  with  me  before  the  glow 
That's  in  the  grate  and  watch  the  show 

Upon  the  walls  defined. 
How  cosy  warm  it  seems  before 
The  ruddy  coals  that  'cross  the  floor 

Throw  shifting,  blushing  beams  ! 
And  list  the  low  and  purring  hum 
That  seems  to  go  and  gently  come, 

Inviting  lovesome  dreams. 

Upon  the  wall  that's  opposite 
Gigantic  shades  and  fancies  flit, 

Rude-penciled  by  the  blaze; 
And  maybe  they  are  ghosts  of  coals, 
And  maybe  they  are  restless  souls 

Of  other  scenes  and  days. 
'Twere  sweet,  methinks,  to  know  the 

source 
Of  those  about  the  rocking-horse 

The  baby  left  to-night ; 
They  seem  to  touch  it  tenderly 
And  almost  make  it  move,  and  see, 


Ebe  (Blow  in  tbe  (Brate. 


The  tiny  saddle's  bright 
With  soft  caresses  meant  for  him. 
But  mother's  chair  is  lost  in  dim 

And  ghostly  shades  that  creep 
Within  it,  somber,  still,  and  trace 
Her  wasted  form  and  gentle  face 

In  wondrous  grays  and  deep, 
As  if  she  sat  again  to  smile 
On  baby's  frolicking,  the  while 

She  crooned  a  song  of  peace. 

Oh  mystic  shades  !  and  can  ye  be 
The  ghosts  of  household  history  ? 

And  will  ye  never  cease  ? 
For  dark  are  some  and  moving  slow, 
And  light  are  some  that  dance  and  go 

Like  children  gay  and  glad  ; 
And  all  the  changing  edge  about 
Is  darkness,  gloom,  unsolven  Doubt 

And  things  forlorn  and  sad. 

But  no,  we  do  not  want  the  light 
To  drive  the  shadows  forth  to-night, 

We'll  turn  around  instead 
And  look  upon  the  coals  that  glow 
So  hopefully  and  brightly  throw 

Us  kisses,  warm  and  red. 


70 


ft  Sball  "Hot  paea. 

Once,   when   I  thought   an    end  must 

some  day  be, 
That  Death's  all-moving  scythe  must 

thee  bestow 

On  Heaven — or  cut  me  down — too  pain- 
fully 

My  heart  tears  bled,  for,  dear,  I  love 
thee  so ! 

Since  then  I've  thought  on  Fate ;  to  me 

it  seems 
Our  loves,  like  souls,  are  not  new, 

fresh-made  things 
That,  born  to-day,  die  when  we  go,  like 

dreams — 

No,  dear,  our  love,  e'en  over  Death, 
hath  wings ! 


77 


TffilbB  SbouID  fl  Xtve  7 

"Why  live  to  have    my  blossoms  fall 

on  stones  ? " 
The   city   sapling   sighed,    "and    what 

atones 
For   blasting  heat,  for  brown,  unlovely 

walls, 
For  lack  of  meadow's  green,  for  birds' 

sweet  calls  ? 

Ah  me,  ah  me,  it  is  no  joy  to  live 
Thus,  all  my  leaves  and  loveliness  to  give 
For  naught.     Oh,  let  me  die  or  let  me 

look 
Once  more  into  the  ripples  of  a  brook  !  " 

An  older  elm,  whose  twigs  had  oft  shed 

tears 
Of  sorrow  through  the  winters  of  the 

years—  Bancroft  Library 

Whose  re-incarnate  wail  thus  at  its  feet 
Was    echoed    o'er,    breathed    back    in 
cadence  sweet: 

78 


SboulDUXtve? 


"  Let  not  thy  young,  unburdened  limbs 

complain, 

Thou  hast  but  tasted  of  the  worldly  pain 
Which  fleeting  Time  doth  bring  with 

sad'ning  truth, 
But  which,  thank  Heav'n,  is  spared  to 

dreaming  youth. 

Live  for  the  joy,  the  comfort  you  may  be 
To  tired  souls — for  those  who  love  to 

see 
Thy  cheerful  green.     Let  not  thy  efforts 

fade 
While  weary  hearts  are  grateful  for  thy 

shade  ; 
Though  blossoms,  thine,    may    fall  on 

with'ring  stone,  . 

Bethink  we  live  not  for  ourselves  alone." 
*  *  *  * 

The  Spring-time  came ;  lo,  in  the  morn- 
ing sun, 
Loveliest  of  the  trees  that  little  one. 


79 


Bu  IRevoft; 

"Ah  me,"  the  tender  zephyrs  sigh, 
And  back  again  they  gently  turn 

To  bid  the  flowers  and  leaves  good-bye, 
To  kiss  again  the  fading  fern, 

Once  more  to  steal  some  perfume  sweet 

And  lay  it  at  the  Summer's  feet, 

Dear  Summer  gliding  past. 

The  cricket's  song  at  close  of  day 

Hath  lost  its  cheery,  blithesome  tone, 
And  mournfully  and  far  away 
It  sounds  with  wood  dove's  plaintive 

moan; 

And  loving  birds  are  hushed  and  still 
That  wooed  the  Summer  from  the  hill, 
The  Summer  dying  fast. 

The  boisterous  breezes  of  the  Fall, 
Frost  laden,  sweep  with  rudest  rush, 

Familiarly  to  toy  with  all 
The  leaves,  which  scarlet  blush 

And  die  for  shame  to  think  that  they 

Perforce  the  zephyr's  love  betray 

To  Winter's  wanton  boy. 

80 


Bu  "Revolt. 


Poor  withered  bits  of  color  brown, 
So  bright  and  green  on  Summer's  day, 

By  angry  Boreas  now  torn  down, 
Are  whirled  in  rustling  clouds  away ; 

And  sobs  the  gentle  early  rain 

To  see  the  gladsome  Summer  wane, 
The  Summer  full  of  joy. 

'Tis  sad  to  see  the  Summer  go, 

'Tis  sad  to  lose  of  kith  or  friend, 
And  yet,  'tis  better  ordered  so, 

'Tis  best  our  earthly  joys  should  end. 
Though    Summer,    aye,    though    Love 

depart, 

They'll  come  again  to  cheer  the  heart — 
Sans  sadness,  sans  alloy. 


THE   EtfD. 


